


when you catch me wide awake

by erlkoenig



Series: Kink Bingo [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Finrod has a thing for Men, Elves have such a thing for hair, M/M, especially when that man is doing shirtless things at sunrise, specifically one man, that man is Bëor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/pseuds/erlkoenig
Summary: The golden light seemed more beautiful now, lighting over the curve of muscle under dark skin, a dusting of sweat, barely there in the still cool morning air.“Are you enjoying the view, my lord?”





	when you catch me wide awake

The first fingers of sunlight were creeping over the land like spilled gold, and as the curve of the sun began to peek over the horizon, soon lit by fire. 

It was a quiet comfort here, to rise with the dark and watch it unfold like some sweet, hummed song. How different it was than Laurelin, and for all he missed and mourned the Trees, this was a different sort of wonder and no less magical.

He had little time for this ritual at Nargothrond, there was always something to call his attention away, someone who needed him just long enough that when he did emerge from the caves the sun was already a bright circle of flame in the sky.

He cherished this, the quiet. If only he could find Balan, they could enjoy it together. It brought a tender sort of smile to his face, the thought of the two of them sitting on the dew-damp grass, watching the sunrise. They could trade stories, where they were when the sun appeared in the sky; how he loved to hear the man’s thoughts, how different they were from his own and all the parts where they overlapped. Stumbling through each other’s languages together, laughing.

_ Thud. _

His ears twitched to the sound and he turned his head sharply, it had been close and —  _ oh. _

The golden light seemed more beautiful now, lighting over the curve of muscle under dark skin, a dusting of sweat, barely there in the still cool morning air. Coiled curls pulled back with a scrap of leather, falling nearly to his shoulders as Balan swung the ax back and curved the strike down, splitting the log.

Ah,  _ Balan.  _ Another to tear him away from this ritual of sunrise and yet Finderáto found that this time he did not mind as much. He had not yet been seen it would seem — Balan rarely missed an opportunity to whistle for him, wave him over with a word or call his name good morning. And oh, he intended to take advantage of this lapse of the chief’s attention.

How different the Edain were from his people, from himself. The years seemed to wash over them like water over stone, shaping it anew, carving lines and other patterns into the skin. Wrinkles, freckles, a thousand things that Finderáto wanted to explore and observe. The thick, coarse, dark hair across Balkan’s chest, the line of it leading down to the waist of his breeches and he knew he shouldn’t  _ stare  _ but he could hardly help himself. Balan was sun-kissed across those broad shoulders, his back, telling a story of many days spent working in the sun without a tunic or shirt. Fainter here and there, where clothing protected him. Palms calloused rough from years of wielding sword and bow and ax — that he knew from more than watching, from Balan touching his shoulder to get his attention, clapping his shoulder, drunkenly touching Finderáto’s face and whispering something he did not quite catch on a language he was only beginning to understand.

Balan fascinated him, and were he ever honest, it was more than fascination. And were he less honest he might try to touch the man’s thoughts and see how far Balan’s own fascination stretched but he had promised: never again.

_ Did I upset you? _

_ It is — I am used to so little privacy among my people now that my own thoughts are, well, it is one thing I do not have to always share. _

So he content himself to watch. The way the muscle moved under skin, the focus, the determination in Balan’s eyes. The sort of look he had when he was out scouting, when they would hunt together, when he stumbled over some word in Sindarin — and the rare times he would coax the word in Quenya from Finderáto.

“Are you enjoying the view, my lord?”

Finderáto shivers, and he hopes that human eyes cannot catch it.

“We could use someone of your strength and talent when the weather turns cold at Nargothrond.” And  _ oh,  _ what a knife’s edge he finds himself on as his thoughts wander even now to other ways Balan could — he clears his throat.

For a terrifying moment, he wonders if Balan, too, can see his mind, can touch his thoughts as he flashes a bright grin, the hint of tongue poking out between his teeth as he sets the ax down and leans against it. “And what use would a great elf king have which so frail a man as myself?”

Finderáto’s mouth is dry, but he laughs. “You are b no means  _ frail,  _ my dear Balan.”

One of those broad, strong hands slide over the handle of the ax, and Eru help him but his thoughts wander ever more and he forces himself to blink, to break his line of sight long enough to shake some sense into himself.

He hears the whicker of the ax head cutting through the morning air, the sharp crack of the log split, the dull thuds as the wood hits the ground.

“You missed the sunrise, Nom.” Balan says, flicking his gaze up to the elf with another cheeky grin. He flexes this time, and and Finderáto sucks in a hiss of breath through his teeth, watching openly now,  _ show-off. _

_ “ _ There will be others.” He says, soft, and then more bold, more daring, “Besides, I find I much prefer this view, as you say.”

Balan rests a foot on the stump, balances the handle of the ax on his this and Finderáto cannot help himself, lets his eyes be drawn down to the man’s legs. Would the skin be as dark there, a scattering of freckle over thigh?

“Do you now?”

He’s caught; that look of a hunter and now he is the prey.

“You still have quite a pile to work through, Balan.”

The man’s eyes narrow, he’s picked up the trail, and his lips twitch up into a smirk.

**Author's Note:**

> moringottos.tumblr.com


End file.
